


Bake It Just Right

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Comfortember 2020 [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Baking, Bruce is a mention, Cassandra Cain - Freeform, Comfortember 2020, Damian Wayne - Freeform, Dick Grayson - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Stress, Stress Baking, mention of injury, tim drake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Worry over loved ones can make people do all kinds of things. Some bury themselves in work, some hover by beds worried, and Jason Todd? Sometimes he stress bakes.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Everyone
Series: Comfortember 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000227
Comments: 12
Kudos: 230





	Bake It Just Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neptance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptance/gifts).



> I had a lot of fun with this because I stress bake and this was an excellent chance to quite literally just make Jason do what I did last week, but all rolled up into one day. 
> 
> For Comfortember day 13: Baking

Jason stomped into the kitchen and moved straight to the pantry. He dug flour, sugar, yeast, and salt out, balancing them in his arms. Then he turned, set the whole lot on the counter and returned for oil, powdered sugar, and the cornstarch. The yeast got set aside, he’d need that later but didn’t want to dig it out just yet, and then he went on a hunt for bowls. If Jason remembered right he was going to roughly need four to start with, and a large saucepan. 

Bowls clattered beside the flour, along with a spatula and whisk before he was turning again to the stove. He settled the saucepan on a medium burner, dumped some milk and heavy cream into it and snapped the burner on low before he spun around to move back to the dry ingredients to gather some sugar.

If he stopped moving for even one second he knew his mind would catch up with his feet and the pressure at the back of his eyes and in his throat might become more than just pressure. So instead, Jason turned himself into a tornado of productivity. 

He spun between the cream on the stove, separating egg whites and yolks, prepping flour, grating frozen butter, and anything else that would help keep him busy until--well until every inch of stress and anger and fear that seemed to make up his DNA was pounded out into dough. Dough of every kind he could think of right now that might be baked in staggering times so they’d be baking long enough the whole manor smelled of home. 

Home was what Jason needed the building to feel like right now, he decided as he stirred yolks, sugar, and cornstarch together. Home felt safe. Home felt like normalcy. Home meant that family _all of them_ would come in to bother him at some point so he could turn around and kick them out for messing with his baking. 

The mixture was fighting him, and clumping, and sticking in his whisk. Jason glared at it and tapped the whisk on the edge of the bowl to force the partially mixed mess out of it.

He’d just started stabbing the whisk down again when he heard footsteps inch their way into the kitchen. Jason spun, the glare he’d aimed at the egg and cornstarch mixture now pointed at Tim.

“Out.” he said, pointing the whisk. 

Tim froze, and held both hands in the air, “Can I grab some coffee?”

“Not until I’m done.” 

His little brother narrowed his eyes, “And when will that be?” 

“I’ll be done, when I’m done.” Jason said. 

Between them, a bit of egg slipped off the whisk and plopped to the ground. Jason considered swatting the whisk in Tim's direction to see if egg coming at him would help him scurry. 

“Alright then. I’ll just...wait.” Tim dropped his hands, glanced at the little bit of bright yellow on the ground and slipped back out of the kitchen. 

Jason sighed, plopped the whisk into the bowl and went to find a soapy rag to clean up the egg with. 

As he knelt, wiping the bit of clumped egg, sugar, and cornstarch up, his heart twisted a bit. These were eggs from Damian’s chickens and he was wasting parts of them by threatening Tim, who’d done nothing wrong. 

He swallowed back something that might have been his heart in his throat, and stood. 

When Jason returned to his egg mixture, he stirred more carefully. One did not make a custard and fill it with stress and frustration. Especially not one Damian had sort of kind of helped with. And the yolks from Damian’s chickens really were beautiful. A nice, creamy golden color, that had more flavor in them than anything he’d purchased from the store. It would be a shame to waste them. 

It had been a good day when Damian had managed to convince Bruce that a flock of chickens rescued from Scarecrow’s latest attempts at improving his fear toxin would be an excellent addition to the manor’s grounds. They were cute, resulted in less trips to the store for eggs, and everyone agreed it was adorable to watch Damian chase them around with bread as he’d tried to help them get over their skittishness. 

Damian. Jason didn’t want to think about his baby brother. Tucked upstairs in his bed hopefully asleep as he recovered from a particularly nasty beatdown from some of Scarface’s thugs. A fight Jason should have been there for. That someone should have intervened in before Damian and Dick ended up--

Bubbling on the stove had Jason turn from the now overly frothy egg mixture to the milk. 

“Shoot.” Jason said, darting over and praying the cream wasn’t scalding. 

Jason gave it a good stir, scraping the bottom of the pan before lifting the spoon. Nothing was clumped on it. Good. He didn’t want to have to start again. 

He clicked off the heat and carried the saucepan over to sit beside his egg mixture. Jason lost himself in carefully tempering his eggs, then adding the whole mix to the rest of the cream in the saucepan to whisk it into a light yellow liquid. 

Stirring that was repetitive enough his mind wandered back upstairs to his brothers. Bruce had them both in the same room after trying to keep them in their own resulted in Damian breaking a lamp and trying to find Dick on a broken foot. Jason wanted to go upstairs and sit with them, or stomp down to the cave, shove his helmet on his head and go beat some sense into Scarface--maybe burn that stupid puppet-- but he didn’t. 

Bruce was busy looking for Scarface alongside Tim (when the kid wasn't bothering Jason), while Cass and Duke sat with the boys upstairs, and Alfred jumped between everyone. There was nothing for Jason to do, and that nothing resulted in an undercurrent of stress he was hoping baking would cut. 

It was not really working yet, but he’d only just gotten started. 

The custard came together quickly and Jason turned his focus back to it, careful not to let it get too thick. He plopped some butter and fragrant vanilla paste into it, stirred it all together and set it aside to cool. 

While it was waiting to be put in the fridge, he started on the tart crust. He whisked flour, powdered sugar, and a little salt together then took out some of his frustration on the butter as he grated a frozen stick down into the bowl. 

If Alfred caught him grating butter instead of cubing it he might just implode, but Jason found grating it so much easier. Sure one of his hands inevitably ended up coated in butter, but who cared when he was going to mix everything together with them anyway? Plus, this made the butter nice and even and small, and well just perfect to mix. 

When he finished the dough, wrapping it tightly in some plastic wrap and tucking it away in the fridge Jason took a moment to start some coffee, picking some of Tim’s favorite beans and making enough for the whole house to have coffee if they wanted it. 

While the pot bubbled and spat, Jason turned to the custard, pressing more plastic wrap down on it’s top to go in the fridge. He had an hour before the crust was ready to roll out, so Jason started on his next project, some good old fashion bread. 

He decided to double his recipe. Thankfully, it was a versatile one so he could use it to make a loaf filled with tasty seeds, one that was broken down into rolls for dinner, and two for sandwiches. With the way his family went through bread it’d be gone in days, but that would be up to Alfred to fix. 

Jason moved back to the pantry and found pumpkin and sunflower seeds that were roasted but unsalted and grinned, those would do nicely. He set them with the other ingredients and grabbed one of the bigger bowls to start the dough in.

It was even easier to lose himself in making dough than it was to mix custard, and for a while, Jason didn’t have to think about anything beyond making sure it was all coming together. 

A light knock on the wall caught Jason’s attention just as he was turning the still tacky dough out to start working it by hand. 

He turned and blinked at Cass who waved at him. He thought about waving back, but his fingers were coated in sticky dough. 

“Yes?” 

“I came for some water for the boys, and--” she smiled and pointed at the coffee pot, “Coffee for Duke and myself.” 

Jason nodded, "Take some down to Tim too, please?" 

He felt bad for kicking Tim out earlier, hence the coffee. He'd thought about walking it down to Tim between projects, but he didn't want to go down to cave if he didn't have to. Cass taking it would help. But also--her just being there was making his stress levels rise again. He really was not in the mood to interact with anyone. Even someone who could read that feeling in him the moment he felt it. Especially not them. 

“I will be fast.” she said and hurried inside, her gait almost a tip-toe even as she sped around, pouring water into glasses, and making coffee all while he stood there frozen, his head like static.

“How are?” he started, but stopped, not sure he wanted to know.

She held a hand flat and turned it from side to side indicating so so. 

“Dick?”

“Sleeping.”

“And Damian?” 

She hummed and shrugged, which could mean absolutely anything. 

None of that information did anything to really help ease Jason’s swirling emotions or quiet the buzz in his head. In fact it took his anxiety and stress and turned the knobs back up on them. Cass seemed to read that in him, and she frowned.

“They will be fine.” 

Jason hoped so. 

He didn’t relax his shoulders until she’d left. When he was alone again Jason spun on the dough happy to have something to take his feelings out on. He stuck both hands in it and started kneading. It was still sticky, and he still had a little flour he could add, so he worked, folding and pressing and putting his all into the dough.

As Jason worked, the pressure in his chest just kept building. What he’d been able to will away earlier was now a tight hot feeling spreading through him in a way that he couldn’t ignore. His shoulders were tight, despite his movement, and Jason thought if he stopped he might scream. 

He might yell anyway. 

There was nothing he could do for Dick or Damian. Nothing he could do right now to fix  _ anything _ . Hours ago? He could have fixed things then, back when he'd asked if Dick and Damian wanted some backup on patrol. One more set of hands could have prevented so much. 

The worst thing was? No one had blamed him. They'd said no, and even though Jason had been planning to go anyway he’d stopped to help make sure some young girls out far too late after having a little too much to drink made it home safely. He'd done nothing wrong. N o one blamed him, yet Jason couldn’t stop telling himself things he should have done. Should have been faster getting them home, should have just called a cab, should have demanded Dick and Damian wait. There were a million possibilities that kept piling in his head as  _ too much.  _

By the time the dough was a smooth round ball, tears were dripping down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them and almost didn’t want to as long as they didn’t drip into the dough. He ran a floured arm across his face and glared down at the mass of dough. Maybe he shouldn't have doubled the recipe. 

“Would you like a hand?” 

Jason had once again missed someone coming in, but this time he didn’t mind. Alfred had stepped in to the room, his presence already warm by Jason’s side. 

“Yes.” he said, swallowing back a sob. 

“Put me to work then, my boy and we’ll get this ready.” 

Jason stepped back and started at the just very large ball of dough, his mind suddenly empty of what he’d been planning to do with it. Alfred waited, all patience, by his side while Jason blinked at the counter.

“Four parts.” he said at last, “three can just rise for now, and one needs seeds folded in.”

“Would you like to fold the seeds?” 

Jason shook his head, “I’ll just--”

Alfred took him by the shoulders and moved him to the sink, “Wash your hands, and put on a kettle. I’d rather have a nice cup of tea over coffee, wouldn’t you?” 

He nodded, and followed his grandfather’s instructions, carefully washing the dough still stuck to his fingers off before he moved to fill the kettle with water and set it on a burner. The stove reminded him he had a crust to bake. 

Jason pulled the disc of now very chilled dough out of the fridge and set it on the counter to start cooling down a bit so he could roll it out. By the time he was done, Alfred had set the fourth and final bowl back on the counter, covered with a cloth, it’s dough primed to rise. 

Alfred raised an eyebrow at the chilled dough.

“It’s going to be a tart. For those berries Duke and Steph picked the other day.” Jason said, tapping his fingers on the counter, “I already finished the custard, and it’s chilling. I thought--I thought everyone might like it later.” 

“I think that is an excellent idea. It is not often we have a nice tart, and yours are always a delight.” 

Jason sniffed and pressed his lips together against a blush, “It’s just a regular old tart.” 

“Simplicity done well can be sublime. I will take over the tea while you sort out that dough.” 

Jason nodded, and they traded places again. Jason pounded out the dough with his rolling pin before rolling it out to fill a tart pan, and Alfred watched over the water, selected a tea, and started it brewing. 

Alfred’s presence was like a balm. 

They worked together in peace. Nothing about Alfred was pressure. He did not push or try to start conversations Jason wanted to have, and nothing in his demeanor made Jason think he was either being judged or pitied. It just felt, normal. And normal was all Jason wanted. 

Soon Jason had the tart shell in the freezer for one final chill, and the oven preheating. As he stepped away, Alfred pressed a teacup into his palms then led him to sit at the bar while they waited. 

Jason did the math, half an hour in the freezer, half to bake, then he could get the bread dough ready for its second rise. After that things would go much slower as he simply baked each loaf then put the tart together. 

“If you keep planning it out you’ll have yourself more worked up than when you started.” Alfred told him. 

Jason huffed, “You know the danger of over proofed dough. We could stagger it. At half and hour put three of the loaves into the fridge to slow down--”

“They will be fine.” Alfred promised, "I will be here to help.”

“I just--” the heat that had faded for a while after he’d cried returned to his eyes, “I don’t want to mess up again.” 

“Come now, Master Jason, do not tell me you truly blame yourself for tonight?”

“I was going to be there.”

“You did what you needed to, and the boys did what they thought was best.” Alfred told him, “It is no one’s fault things played out the way they did, and what is most important is that they will be fine.”

Jason sniffed, “I know. It’s just hard to get through my skull sometimes. I can’t stand the idea of losing family I just got back.”

Alfred reached out to pat his hand, “The feeling is mutual, my dear boy.”

And really, Jason knew it wasn't his fault. He was stressed and worried about his brothers and trying every outlet from baking to blaming himself to fix things or just relieve the pressure he felt to do something. Baking more than blaming was helping, and he just needed to focus on that. Then when he had something nice to bring them, he'd go see Dick and Damian. 

The rest of the baking smoothly, and far more relaxed than Jason had started out. He helped Alfred tidy the kitchen between rises, and then sat peacefully with him during downtime, both of them content to read.  Whenever someone came in, Alfred fielded their questions and needs, leaving Jason to finish whatever they’d been working on. They made an excellent team that way.

At last, when the tart was finished and back in the fridge, and the bread was all baked and cooling Jason thought maybe he could head upstairs to check on his brothers. Alfred had disappeared to do the same earlier and come back with a positive review. 

“Take them some of the tart. They will be happy for something sweet, and I do not believe Master Damian has had this particular dessert here yet.”

“He’ll be excited to hear his chickens came in handy.” Jason smiled. 

They loaded a tray with water and slices of tart. Alfred was being very strict about keeping tea or coffee away from the boys so they’d sleep instead of staying up. Though, Jason had a feeling a kick of sugar would work as well as caffeine right now. 

“I hope you nerds are ready for something incredible.” Jason said, stepping into the room. 

Jason was not surprised to find the two snuggled together as he came in, both looking up to blink at him with surprise. Somehow, Damian had found his way into Dick’s bed despite the fact that Alfred hadn’t wanted him moved, and they were supposed to be keeping still. Instead of any of that, Damian had just about buried himself into Dick’s unbruised side, looking a bit like a furious kitten poking its head out of a wad of blankets with the way he was wrapped in one. 

Dick, for his part, looked delighted by Damian’s closeness and Jason’s arrival. His whole face brightened in a way that couldn’t have felt great against all the bruising there. Just seeing them settled something in Jason's chest. 

“Jay! I was wondering how long it’d take you to make it. We could smell bread baking all the way up here.” He squeezed Damian lightly, “Dames was excited to get to try some.” 

“I was not.” Damian said, his face pinched in a not quite scowl, “I simply commented that you were doing something useful for once.” 

Jason snorted, “So then, you don’t want some of this fruit tart?” 

“Little Wing, you _didn’t_.” Dick gasped, “It’s been forever since I had one of your tarts.”

“Because they take forever to make.” Jason told him, “I’ll take that as a yes from you.”

“I am willing to try it. Tarts use a custard filling correct?” Damian said, detangling him a bit from Dick’s side so Jason could dole out plates. 

“Yep, you’ll have to thank your chicken friends for this particular treat. I couldn’t resist those lovely yolks.” 

“They lay excellent eggs.” Damian agreed, then took a bit of the tart. 

All Jason’s work was worth it to watch the boy’s eyes light up and his mouth drop open in surprise. 

“It is good.” 

Good, Jason thought. Not acceptable or okay, but good. That was some of the highest praise Damian would give out for something. 

Dick elbowed him, “See why I was happy?”

“Indeed.” Damian turned to Jason, “It is wonderful, Todd. Thank you.” 

Jason blushed a bit, “I just thought you guys might want something nice. Sweets always help after a bad night.”

“You’re the best, Jay. Want to join us?”

“Nah, you two have already crowded the bed. I’ll take the chair.” 

Any nerves that might still be lingering in Jason’s stomach were washed away by Dick’s gentle chatter. Both of them looked much better than he had hoped, and already improved compared to how they’d been when he’d dragged them home. Just being there, Jason knew Alfred was right. They would be fine. 


End file.
